


Warped and Bewitched

by mistermistyeyed



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Humor, Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson Friendship, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes-centric, M/M, Minor Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, One Shot, POV Sam Wilson, Panic Attacks, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 13:39:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7576015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistermistyeyed/pseuds/mistermistyeyed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam never knew the Bucky from the '30s, before war and torture changed him irrevocably. Maybe that's why he can see through Bucky's act. Steve might be blinded by hope or subconsciously ignoring the signs, but Sam is sure Bucky isn't as fine as he wants people to believe. And now it's his job to knock some sense into two emotionally inept super soldiers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warped and Bewitched

**1927**

Bucky was walking home from school, notebooks tucked under his arm and idly whistling a Paul Whiteman song off-key. He was trying to recall the song's name, when he heard the tell-tale thumps and crashes of a fight coming from a nearby alleyway. Curious, he jogged across the street to the source of the commotion.

In the alley were two large boys, ganged up against a smaller one. Bucky had seen the tiny blond in school, which was the only reason he knew that they were around the same age; his stature sure was misleading. The blond was going after the other two with tenacious resilience, but heart could only make up for so much. He was getting his ass kicked.

Bucky dropped his books and ran into the fray without a second thought. He was a decent fighter, and he had the element of surprise. He kicked one in the back and sent him flying to the ground with a confused shout. Before his buddy could react, Bucky clocked him across the jaw. While the first one was down, the blond kicked him, causing him to scramble up and begin to back out of the alley.

"C'mon, Andy, these saps ain't worth it."

The other, Andy, backed away from Bucky, cradling his jaw. He spat at them before turning and running away with his friend.

"That's right, beat it!" Bucky yelled at their retreating backs. The blond tried to take off after them, but Bucky grabbed his collar. "What the hell are you doin'?"

The blond glared at him. "Goin' after 'em. They were beatin' up on a defenseless cat."

Bucky looked around the alley. "Uh, where's the cat?"

The boy huffed. "It ran when I distracted 'em."

Bucky snorted. "Looks like a stray cat got more sense than you, pal. Ain't anyone ever told you to mind your own beeswax?"

"And what, let 'em beat up a cat?"

Bucky looked at him searchingly for a moment before laughing slightly. "How is someone like you even real?" He stuck out a hand. "Bucky Barnes."

The blond shook it. "Steve Rogers."

* * *

 

**2017**

Sam had known that it was a bad idea the second Steve told him about it. But then he took in his friend's haggard appearance; the bags under his eyes, the gauntness of his features. Only someone heartless could say no to the tentative hope on his face, so Sam found himself nodding instead of pointing out the flaws.

That's how he found himself standing in the corner of the room as a technician took Bucky out of cryo. She changed some settings on the machine and then left to give them privacy. Steve stepped forward and pulled the glass door open slowly, frigid air and fog leaving the chamber and curling around his ankles. Bucky's eyes cracked open, and he glanced around in disoriented panic until his gaze landed on Steve.

A small smile spread across Bucky's face, and Sam had an overwhelming sense that he was intruding, even though Steve had asked him to be there. He cleared his throat and stepped forward to make his presence known. Bucky's eyes snapped to Sam, and his smile immediately faded. He narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to say something, but all that came out were hacking coughs.

Steve quickly undid the straps and helped Bucky over to a chair, even though he halfheartedly tried to shrug Steve off. Steve grabbed a water bottle and handed it to Bucky, who took long, grateful sips. Sam passed Bucky a blanket. He glared at it for a second, and Sam was sure he would refuse to use it just because it was _Sam_ who gave it to him. However, his obvious shivers won over pride, and Bucky snatched the blanket, wrapping it around his shoulders and looking way smaller than any ex-assassin should.

Steve glanced around the room, giving off the air of a hovering mother. Bucky waved Steve's worries off and cleared his throat. His second attempt at speaking was much more successful. "They found a cure?" he asked, voice scratchy and full of hope.

Steve winced. "No, they don't know how to get the codes out without accidently damaging other parts of your brain."

The hope died on Bucky's face, and a blank mask fell over his features. "Why did you wake me up, then?"

Steve bit his lip and looked down at his hands. "I couldn't stand to see you in that chamber, Buck. To have you be so close yet so far was killing me. I know this is what you wanted and I'm the most selfish man on the goddamn planet-"

"Don't say that," Bucky muttered softly. "You're the most selfless guy I know." The expression on his face was the epitome of tragedy and it honestly hurt Sam to look at. He considered leaving the room, but he was afraid to break the fragile atmosphere.

When Steve glanced up, he looked like he was on the verge of tears. Seeing that, Bucky seemed to make a decision. An easy grin crossed his face, one that Sam recognized from his tenth grade history textbook. "I mean, I see why you had to wake me up, considering you had _this_ guy for company." He jerked a thumb at Sam.

Before Sam could retort, Bucky continued. "I have to say though, I'm disappointed, Stevie. How can you not keep yourself entertained with all of these future gadgets? You used to sit still for hours in our apartment with just a pencil and paper."

Steve's face brightened. "And I could never even get a drawing done, with you bothering me every five minutes."

Bucky shrugged. "What can I say, I get bored easily. Especially when you learned to tune out my pestering."

Steve smiled. After a few moments, the smile began to turn sad. Bucky sighed and stood up, letting the blanket slide to the floor. He wrapped Steve in a tight hug. "Stop being such a punk."

Steve laughed, clinging to Bucky. "I will when you stop being such a jerk."

Everything seemed fine, except when Sam noticed that Bucky's hand was trembling. Still, Bucky smiled and joked with Steve like nothing was wrong. Sam wrote it off as shivers from the cold and left the room, muttering about sappy super soldiers under his breath loud enough that he knew they'd hear it.

* * *

 

Sam was exhausted. He had been flying around the base doing recon for T'Challa all night. Of course, it was the least he could do to repay the Wakandan king for his hospitality. Still, it was 4am when he stumbled back into the darkened rooms, and he was ready to crash.

He walked through the base, not bothering to flip on any lights. He shuffled through the common room, unclicking his wing pack and tossing it on the couch, not having the energy to care. He made his way to his room, but stopped when he felt an unexpected breeze flowing through the hallway. Glancing over, he saw that the door to one of the various decks was wide open.

Now on high alert, Sam crept towards the door, body tense and ready to ward off an intruder. When he got close enough, he peered around the doorway, scoping out the area.

At first the deck looked empty, until he spotted Bucky. He was sat tucked in a corner, knees drawn up to his chest as he gazed blankly at the sunset beginning to rise over the horizon. His vacant expression made Sam worry that he was actually looking at the Soldier, but suddenly Bucky seemed to snap out of it. He quickly grabbed a notebook that was lying next to him, writing fervently as if his life depended on it.

Sam watched for a moment longer before slowly creeping back to his room. The next morning he asked Steve how Bucky had slept and was met with a laugh instead of the concern he had expected.

"Buck sleeps like the dead. In Italy he slept through a bombing not ten miles from us. I'm pretty sure Morita actually checked his pulse. The guys would try to see how many rocks they could pile on him before he woke up."

* * *

 

It was always a battle for coffee. It was as if Bucky had a psychic ability to know when Sam was making a pot, constantly using his assassin skills to slip in and steal it while Sam was still looking for a mug. Sam made sure to return the favor often enough, though with a much lower success rate.

The kitchen became a war zone in the morning, T'Challa sometimes watching amusedly while Steve avoided the room altogether in exasperation. Sam would get a call on his cellphone and come back to an empty pot and a smirking Wakandan king who claimed he didn't see anything. Once Sam had replaced the sugar with salt before realizing that Bucky took his coffee black, ending up with a pissed off Steve who had made the worst sugar cookies in history.

But no matter who had won the coffee battle that morning, Sam always left a blanket on the deck before going to bed.

The blanket always ended up back in Sam's room, folded perfectly.

* * *

 

Steve brought up the idea during dinner one night. "So, T'Challa's scientists have been working on a new metal arm. I told him he didn't have to do that, but he said it was the least he could do after trying to kill you. I wasn't sure if you would even want a replacement so I thought I'd bring it up..." He trailed off and stared at his peas as if they were the most interesting thing in the world.

Anyone who thought it was impossible for Captain America to be unsure of himself had clearly never seen him talk to Bucky Barnes.

Bucky's grip on his fork tightened until his knuckles stood out a stark white, but he smiled. "Of course; what kind of guy would turn down having two arms again? Plus, you don't need any more advantages when we spar, _Captain America_."

Steve rolled his eyes, face brightening in relief. "Keep talking like that and I'll tell T'Challa to paint a shield on it."

In the days leading up to the procedure, Sam didn't see Bucky sit down once. He was either pacing or in the gym, nervous energy practically rolling off of him. Whenever Steve entered the room, though, he was all smiles. The blanket was left on the deck untouched.

Sam wasn't actually there for the attachment. Steve and Bucky disappeared into the lab for three hours of carefully fusing the old scorched metal to T'Challa's new design. When they emerged, Bucky was pale and shaky, ribbing Steve about one of the old Brooklyn days.

"Hey Sam, did I tell you about the time me and Steve hitchhiked on some trains to DC when we were fifteen? He insisted on protestin' with the Bonus Army, and I had to go and make sure he didn't get himself shot. Pretty sure he wanted to punch Hoover in the face himself." He discreetly wiped some sweat off of his brow with his trembling flesh hand, purposely averting his gaze from the new metal one. "Mrs. Rogers was ready to kill us when we got home three days later."

Steve scowled. "Herbert Hoover was an ass."

Bucky gasped. "Captain America cursin' an American president? That's practically treason."

After that, Sam never saw Bucky without a long sleeve shirt and glove on his left hand, no matter how much the jungle's humidity seeped into the base. He often caught Bucky staring at the arm in disdain when he thought no one was looking, prompting Sam to utilize his amazing distraction skills.

When he caught Bucky glaring at the arm as if the intensity of his gaze could blow the metal off for a second time, Sam called out, "Hey, old man, ready to get the shit kicked out of you in Mario Kart?"

Of course he couldn't back down from a challenge like that.

* * *

 

Bucky obviously loved his long hair. Anyone could tell by the way he tended to the long locks until it looked like it he belonged in a Pantene commercial. Once Sam had used Bucky's shower when his was broken, and there had been various shampoos and conditioners, the counter littered with hair products that he didn't even understand.

Sam had a few theories on the hair obsession. One was that Bucky was just a diva (he used this theory when he wanted to annoy the ex-assassin). But, he _actually_ believed it was because Bucky's hair was his choice. After so long of having no say in his life, being little more than a tool, putting effort into something so trivial simply because he chose to had its obvious appeals.

That's why Sam nearly had a heart attack when Bucky walked down the hall with short hair. It was gelled into a style straight out of the 30s, and Sam saw the guy depicted in the Smithsonian who had fought alongside the Howling Commandos. Sure, Bucky and Nat had disappeared into his room about an hour ago, but he had no reason to think _this_ would be the outcome.

"What the fuck?" he breathed, still in mild shock.

Bucky smirked, casting a sidelong look at Sam. "Close your mouth, Sam, it's rude to stare."

And Sam suddenly believed all of the historians who wrote about Bucky's charm and luck with the ladies. He flipped him off but was still too surprised to form an actual comeback.

Steve walked into the room and saw Natasha. "Oh, hey Nat! I didn't know you were-" His gaze shifted over to Bucky, and the words died in his throat. His expression froze and his mouth dropped open slightly. He stood motionless for a few moments, eyes slowly widening. It would have been hilarious if it wasn't so incredibly adorable, and fuck Bucky for making Sam actually call Captain America adorable.

"Buck?" he spoke quietly, still not moving.

Bucky smiled and ran a hand through his hair. "Hey, Stevie, what's goin' on?"

That broke Steve's trance, and he quickly walked forward and enveloped Bucky in a hug before holding him at arms length, drinking in the sight. "You cut your hair?" he asked.

Bucky rolled his eyes. "No, it fell out."

Steve laughed and ran a hand through Bucky's hair. "Geez, Buck, you look-" Words failed him and he simply shook his head, a huge grin splitting his face. Bucky smiled back just as wide, lightly punching Steve's bicep and slinging an arm around his shoulders, even though Steve now had a few inches on him.

Sure, Bucky had loved his hair, but Sam knows what Bucky loves more.

* * *

 

Sam rolled out of bed, yawning as he stretched his arms above his head. He squinted at the clock, its bright red numbers reading 3:32am. He rolled he head from side to side, cracking the kinks in his neck, before shuffling out of his room, on a mission for a cup of water.

He tiptoed to the deck door to check on Bucky, which had become a habit any time he woke up in the middle of the night. Bucky was usually just writing in a notebook or gazing at the forest, occasionally slumped over asleep with Sam's blanket wrapped around him.

When cracked open the door, an odd wheezing sound reached his ears. Losing any previous caution, Sam quickly ran outside, glancing around until he saw Bucky. He was leaned against the wall, arms wrapped around himself protectively. His eyes were unfocused and unseeing, his chest rising and falling rapidly with gasping breaths.

Sam rushed over to his side, any previous drowsiness gone. He kneeled next to Bucky, grabbing his shoulders in an attempt to bring him out of his own head. "Bucky," he called calmly. He had worked with the VA long enough to know a panic attack when he saw one.

At the sudden contact, Bucky surged backwards, pressing himself back against the wall. He blinked rapidly until his eyes refocused, landing on Sam. His eyes portrayed all of his panic, and his chest heaved with breaths that were too short.

Sam grabbed Bucky's right hand and pressed it to his own chest. "It's alright, just breathe with me, okay? Match my breaths."

Sam took long, slow breaths, and Bucky's first attempts to copy this failed. Sam could feel how fast his heart was beating through his grip on Bucky's wrist. "It's okay, you're safe. We're at T'Challa's base in Wakanda. Steve's safe. Everyone's okay, everything is alright," Sam murmured in a calm, strong voice.

Eventually, Bucky's breathing began to smooth out. He dropped his head and curled his hands into fistfuls of his hair. "Oh my God, I shot him. He was begging me to remember him and I _didn't remember_ and I kept going, what if I didn't stop, what if I killed him? I shot Natasha, I ripped your wing out, _I almost killed him_. I should've died when I fell off that train, the world would've have been much better off."

Sam rubbed his shoulder gently. "You didn't do any of those things; it wasn't _you_."

Bucky shook his head. "You don't understand. You can't see the terror on their faces seconds before I killed them with these _fucking hands_ ," he growled, slamming his fist down against the deck, rattling the wood. "The spark of recognition in Howard's eyes before I _bashed his face in._ And it can all happen again with just a few fucking Russian words."

Bucky stood up abruptly, slipping back inside the base so quickly and silently that Sam questioned if he was ever there at all. He rushed inside after Bucky, but the ex-assassin was long gone.

When Sam walked into the kitchen after a restless night's sleep that morning, Bucky was already there, leaned back in a chair and drinking the last of the coffee out of Sam's favorite mug, smirking at Steve and telling him that only old men read the newspaper.

* * *

 

Some nights, Bucky claimed he had eaten dinner early and left Steve and Sam to eat alone, even though Sam knew for a fact he hadn't seen Bucky enter the kitchen all day.

These nights, Sam would leave a plate of cookies next to the blanket on the deck.

These nights, Sam would not sleep well.

There was always a plate full of crumbs in the sink the next morning, and Bucky always had a big smile and a joke to make Steve laugh.

* * *

 

Sam started to pay more attention after he had witnessed Bucky's panic attack. He began to notice little details, imperceptible to those who weren't looking. The way Bucky would flinch slightly if Steve unexpectedly clapped him on the shoulder. The way seemingly innocuous words would make his breath hitch (once, the showers hadn't been getting hot water. Steve had suggested that maybe the furnace was rusted, and Bucky had paled about five shades).

Sam usually wasn't one to meddle in his friend's personal affairs, but it was clear that Steve didn't notice anything was amiss. To be fair, it seemed Bucky was going to great lengths to keep it that way.

After a few weeks, Sam couldn't let it play out anymore. It became glaringly obvious that his two friends would go on like that for decades without a push. So, when he was sure Bucky was preoccupied doing target practice with Clint, he marched up to Steve, blurting out "You need to talk to Bucky" without preamble.

Steve sighed and set aside the sketch he had been working on, Bucky's smiling face brought alive in graphite on the paper. "I already talked to him about hiding all of your shoes, and he promises not to do it again-"

Sam huffed. "No, not about that. He's not okay, Steve, and you need to address it."

Steve's face fell, features contorting with worry. "W-what?"

Sam took a seat next to Steve, placing a gentle hand on his friend's shoulder. "He's not sleeping, and guilt is eating him alive. It really should be him telling you this, though, not me. Just, bring it up, alright?"

Sam stood and began walking out of the room, intending to leave Steve to sort through this new revelation in peace. He was stopped by his friend's broken voice.

"...and I didn't notice?"

Sam turned back, and the tragic expression on Steve's face propelled him back to the couch, crouching down and grabbing his broad shoulders. "Steve, look at me. You not noticing is in no way your fault, and I will not tolerate you feeling guilty about it. It's been a hectic and stressful couple of months, for all of us, and I'm pretty sure Bucky's main goal has been hiding it from you. Understood?"

Steve gave him a weak smile. "Understood."

"Good. Now, talk some sense into that idiot."

* * *

 

Bucky had always told Steve that he had the emotional tact of a bull in a china shop, and while he had denied it vehemently, Steve knew that it was sadly true. He spent a day or two after Sam's talk thinking of a good way to bring it up, and ended up with a grand total of zero ideas. So, naturally, Steve brought up the heavy, emotional conversation during Bucky's seventeenth attempt to teach him how to play Mario Kart.

"Stevie, for the hundredth time, you have to _avoid_ the bananas, even if you're playing as Donkey Kong."

Steve braced himself and blurted out the question before he lost his resolve. "Buck, are you okay?"

Bucky froze, placing his controller on the table and not even glancing at the screen when his character flew off of the map. He threw on a smirk that Steve now recognized as forced, causing another spike of guilt because _how did he not notice?_ "I mean, if I want a challenge, I could just ask Sam, and don't tell him I said that, it'll just inflate his ego. I just want you to at least beat T'Challa or something."

When Steve didn't smile, Bucky paled. "I talked to Sam."

Bucky ducked his head, avoiding Steve's gaze. "That bastard."

"Bucky, you know you can talk to me, right? I don't understand why you thought you had to hide things from me."

Bucky chuckled without humor. "I know that you probably feel guilty, because that's what you _do_ , but stop. You haven't done anything wrong."

"Then why can't you trust me?"

Bucky looked up, shock evident on his face. "It's not about _trust_ , you loser. I trust you with my life, Stevie, since we were teenagers." He dropped his head into his hands, raking his fingers through his hair. "It's just, you became an international fugitive, fought your friends for me-"

Steve put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You know that was my decision, and I'll never regret it."

Bucky shook his head. "You deserve your friend back, not some- some _broken shell_ that looks like him."

That hit Steve in the chest like a physical blow. "Buck- no. I never expected you to be who you were before the war. Hell, I'm not the same person I was before the war either. I did all of that for _you_ , the person you are now, whoever that may be."

Bucky just shrunk in on himself further, seemingly ignoring Steve's words. "I've been a weapon a lot longer than I've been a person. You don't deserve to deal with someone that fucked up. I- I didn't want to disappoint you."

Steve couldn't hold it back anymore; he surged forward and enveloped Bucky in a tight hug. "We're all fucked up. Me, you, Sam, Clint, 'Tasha- but we all take care of each other." He took Bucky's hand, lacing their fingers together. "You could never disappoint me. I don't expect you to act like anything. All I want is for you to be happy."

Bucky slowly looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. "How is someone like you even real?"

Steve's tears finally spilled over. "I've been wondering the same thing every time I've looked at you since '27." Bucky shifted his body to hug Steve back, clinging to him, hands fisted into the material of Steve's t-shirt.

Steve raised a hand to cradle the back of Bucky's head. "I love you, Bucky. Any version of you."

Bucky squeezed him tighter. "I love you too, Stevie, till the end of the line."

* * *

 

Sam shuffled out of bed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. The first tendrils of dawn were only just appearing, but Sam figured he'd check on Bucky before catching a few more hours of sleep.

He cracked the deck door open, and the sight that greeted him lifted a weight off of his shoulders that he hadn't even realized was there.

The gentle light of oncoming dawn illuminated Steve and Bucky where they were huddled together on the ground. Sam's blanket was wrapped around them, barely large enough to encompass the bulk of two super soldiers. Bucky was curled up on Steve, face nuzzled into Steve's neck. Sam's brain immediately made a comparison of Bucky's sprawling limbs to that of a cat.

Steve had a small, peaceful smile on his face. Sam would have thought he was asleep, if it weren't for the hand gently carding through Bucky's hair.

Sam quietly shut the door, warmth spreading through his chest at the sight of his two stupid, elderly best friends finally happy.

He wasn't even mad that morning when Bucky won the coffee battle. Well... he was a _little_ mad.

**Author's Note:**

> All I need is Sam, Bucky, and Steve being incredibly competitive playing Mario Kart(:  
> fun fact: Bucky was whistling My Blue Heaven by Paul Whiteman :D  
> Thanks for reading! Any feedback is greatly appreciated.  
> The title is from a Muse song called Assassin. Check it out!


End file.
